


Laut

by 13thDoctor



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/pseuds/13thDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has nightmares about his time with Shaw in the concentration camp. Charles is his anchor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JHarkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/gifts).



> 'Laut' is German for 'Loud'
> 
> This takes place mostly within First Class, before Charles is paralyzed and when they're not fighting.

Erik’s whole life was composed of endless noise.

The sounds that meant pain were simple. At least, he recognized them better than those of pleasure, had experienced pleasure far less.

Shrieking metal. It tore and melded with angry, high-pitched scream. His mother’s voice, or her lullaby, which stung more than soothed. The smooth blade of a knife and the click of a gun’s trigger. Laughter outside of the gas chambers accompanying the wails inside of it, and the  _thunk_ of bodies falling into shallow graves. The sinking of thick boots into deep mud, and the squelching struggle of a person as he or she was drowned in the filth of it. The screeching of his ability inside his head as it tore his mind to pieces, and the resounding shout that manifested outside of him whenever he lost control, which was far too often.

Anger, agony, fear, and the men who controlled it.

Erik Lehnsherr was not in control of these sounds. They tormented him as cats torment mice; maliciously, with no clear sign of ever simply devouring him until the moment they do. They abided their time and struck him in his worst moments, at his weakest or his most unaware. They preyed on his happiness and bled his body dry of hope. In the daytime they came in flashes of memory triggered by scents, sights, and sounds that should have been welcoming, such as a warm fireplace or the fence around a children’s park. It was worst, however, when they visited him at night in an endless maze of darkness and howling faces.

He did not know the sound of love until he met Charles Xavier.

…

In his nightmare, Erik was bound to a chair, once more at the mercy of Shaw. No longer a child, Erik could understand the intricacies of his ability and attempted to use them. But the chains binding his pale body only constricted him further as he tried. Each clench of his hands cut the metal deeper into his skin until blood dripped from beneath each shackle. Shaw taunted him with his weakness and lack of control. Every mocking word was punctuated by a small needle pricking his back, sharp enough to hurt but not enough to maim unless pressed deeper. Erik’s attempts at halting the barrage did just that; the scars that formed later were reminders of his folly. The man’s malicious laugh echoed around him as he bled and broke his bones. His struggles produced tears and screams, loud and distraught and horrified. He screamed until his throat was raw and pain swallowed him whole. There was blackness, but it was the red-tinged emptiness hidden behind eyelids screwed shut in injury and fury.

The room turned black. It was silent, void. A world full of despair and loathing. Erik knew it well; he’d been here many times before. His stomach turned at the thought of returning to such a place, and he cried out in need of a savior. Despite the feeling of broken glass in his mouth, he called and called.

Charles answered.

“Erik!” Charles yelled frantically. In Erik's head, the sound was a strange echo, as if Charles was underwater. "Please, come back to me."

After several more attempts of gentle coaxing, Erik was pulled from his misery back to the waking world. Sweating and gasping for air, he threw his arms into the empty space and exhaled wildly. His throat was hoarse and his hands were sore from gripping something far too tightly.

He surveyed his surrounding without recognition, a suffocating alarm ringing in his ears as he tried to separate what was true or not. He scrambled blindly to the bed corner, barely registering that it was indeed a bed. The metal headboard he had bent into a contorted and vile shape, and the sheets were torn from the mattress. Even the bedframe was leaning, pressed heavily to its right side by Erik’s violent hands.

Then Charles spoke again, and everything sharpened and aligned.

“Erik, love, it’s another dream,” Charles whispered. On his knees he crept carefully over to the other man, hands raised in a gesture of solidarity, surrender.

Two hands curled over his jaw reassuringly, forcing his head to stay still. Charles asked Erik to meet his eyes, murmuring gently. “You are safe here. Listen. Erik, I am here and you are _safe._ ” The accent was music to his ears, soothing in the darkness.

Erik blinked away the last images of the camp and focused on Charles’ voice and face alone. His fixed concentration drove a nail through his skull, but he pushed it aside. He knew it would be over soon. The soft kisses Charles was placing on the inside of his wrists evidenced as much.

Shivering, he pushed Charles’ arms away and placed them around his shoulders, holding his lover in a tight embrace. He listened to the sound of their hearts beating out of rhythm, the way their lungs rose and fell, and pressed their ribs together to bring them closer. He loved the sound of Charles’ words, his breath, and his body. Charles was the sound he had searched for his entire life.

Erik’s whole life was composed of endless noise.

The sounds that meant pleasure were simple. Charles’ small exclamations of excitement when one of the X-Men achieved a new task. The fall of a chess piece as he defeated his lover, and the chair’s creak as Charles leapt off it to tackle Erik to the ground whenever he was the victor instead. Charles’ sighs and breaths when Erik was inside him, when their mouths met, when they held one another as they awaited sleep. The beautiful ringing of metal when they pushed their hands together too suddenly and their rings collided.

He never wanted that noise to end.


End file.
